


Hard to Watch

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Orgasm Denial, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: On your knees you wait. Desperate, shaking, pathetic: just the way Valerius likes you.





	Hard to Watch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the smutty drabble game on my Tumblr (@vesuviannights) using the prompt “you’re so fucking pathetic, it’s almost hard to watch… almost" with Valerius and a GN reader.

Valerius tilts your chin up with the tip of a long, well-manicured finger, the tip of his nail pressing into your skin softly enough that you know he’s teasing, but firmly enough that you know he could also slaughter you in an instant if he so wished.

The unreadable line of his lips from his position above you, seated at the foot of his bed, ankle crossed over one knee, a half-empty glass of Nevivon red perched in his other hand, has you trembling from where you are kneeling and waiting for his next words, his next breath, his next anything.

He tilts his head to the side; the soft firelight catches on some of the red strands of his hair that always come through when the Vesuvian winter starts to melt away. You commented on them once, and had found him the next day with roots once more black as midnight, not a strand of the sunset to be seen.

You itch to run his hands through those strands; your hand twitches, and he must catch the movement, because his unreadable expression slowly twists into a smirk that’s still a little too soft to be cruel. It’s almost adoring.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he murmurs to you, a cruel lilt to his voice that has your lower belly warming. “It’s almost hard to watch… _almost_.”

Your eyes drop in shame, and you know by the press of his nail into your jaw that it’s the wrong move. He likes to watch you in your pathetic attempts to be near him, enjoys the way your body trembles as you wait for a touch that may never come. 

“Are you thirsty?”

It’s not a question, not really. You lift your gaze to find him leaning closer, closer than he has let you be in days. Normally so giving, so content to watch you squirm below, above, in front of him, he has made it his sole duty to see you beg in your pathetic silence for a release he has been denying you for almost 4 days. Feeling yourself already teetering on the edge from the purr of his words, the tilt of his gaze, it takes everything in you to remain seated back on your feet, to keep your hands splayed on your thighs.

“Open your mouth.”

You part your lips, and he leans in closer. Your thighs tremble beneath your fingertips, the skin of your cheeks heats to a flush you know has spread to the tips of your ears, and as he leans close enough for you to kiss, you release a soft, hopeful whimper. 

This is where he stops: close enough to feel his breath warm your neck, close enough to taste traces of the mouthful of wine that waits for you just past his closed lips, but not close enough for him to kiss you, or for you to steal one of your own. Never close enough for that.

His twisted, cruel smirk softens at the sight of you, his gold-flecked eyes drinking you in as he sets aside his glass. He moves to kneel on the floor with you, pushing your hair out of your eyes as he swallows the mouthful of wine he meant for you to take.

“Pathetic as you may be for my touch,” he tells you, as you sigh into his hand. “Nothing will ever compare to watching you tremble and sigh as you receive it.”

And then he kisses you.


End file.
